


A Patchwork Family

by Scarlet_Gryphon



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Comments are highly appreciated!, Gen, Original Sylph characters, not all sylphs live at the lodge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22859395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Gryphon/pseuds/Scarlet_Gryphon
Summary: The threads of Fate are woven differently for everyone, but sometimes those threads are bound to the same destination.(Or, the owner of the quilt shop in Kepler has more secrets than one would think)
Relationships: Barclay & Jake Coolice, Jake Coolice & Original Sylph Female Character, Jake Coolice & the Hornets
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	A Patchwork Family

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Punka_Writes for the use of the Sylvan spelling of Jake's name. Her fic ["Whoever You Are, No Matter How Lonely"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22843471) is amazing and also referenced briefly in this work. Elizabethany is the product of much brainstorming over at the Ducknerva Discord server. All Sylvan names are pronounced the same as their English counterparts. Elizabethany is a hedgehog-based Sylph.

Kepler is full of odd little shops tucked away on its streets, with the Cryptonomica being one of its most prominent.  _ Hither and Yarn _ has sat in a cul-de-sac at the end of Spruce Street for at least twenty years, and its owner has been the subject of minor gossip for just as long. Elizabethany Qwilleran has always been a strange one, even for Kepler. Her short, spiky hair is inevitably dyed a vibrant color- the past year or so, it’s been a brilliant firetruck red -and regardless of what’s happening in the world, she seems to be perpetually cheery and ready to offer advice if needed. Her shop has remained in business likely only because it’s closer than having to go to some of the bigger towns down the highway, but even that fact hasn’t dulled the enthusiasm Elizabethany (“Call me Liz!”) greets life with.

She has a kind face that defies all proper guesses at a solid age, though most can agree that she’s somewhere between forty and fifty. The fact that she’s looked like that since she arrived in Kepler is helpfully overlooked thanks to the charm on the pin that keeps her glamour active, the little pair of golden scissors the one constant in her wardrobe over the years besides the pair of half-moon glasses on a thin chain she wears.

Elizabethany looks up from her current project of inventory management (the bane of her existence, even with magic) with relief when the bell over the shop’s front door chimes out cheerily. Setting aside her ledger book, she steps out of her personal workroom at the back of the shop and makes her way through the neatly organized shelving units and fabric bins that hold her wares. When she sees who it is that’s come into her shop, a broad grin illuminates her face.

“ _ Barclay! And who’s this? _ ” she asks, easily falling into the lilting syllables of Common Sylvan rather than the rumbling ones of the groundborn dialect that is most at home on her tongue. Barclay has a hand on the shoulder of a young man who can’t be more than thirteen or fourteen at the most, and if Elizabethany is any judge, is the newest resident of the Lodge, something that sets her teeth on edge. They’re getting younger and younger each year. She supposes the Council is getting more and more desperate as time passes, but to send a  _ child _ through the gate? Unconscionable.

“ _ This is Djāk _ ,” Barclay replies, lightly squeezing Djāk’s shoulder. “ _ Djāk, this is Ēlyzabæthǝnē. _ ”

“ _ You can just call me Liz or Miss Liz if you want, hoglet, _ ” Elizabethany says when Djāk blinks at her long name. She cocks her head curiously. “ _ How long have you been here? _ ”

Djāk shrugs, playing with the leather cuff around his thin wrist. Elizabethany looks to Barclay for an answer, only to find him grimacing. 

“Two weeks,” Barclay says with a growl, shifting to English in his annoyance. Djāk tenses under his hand, making Elizabethany waste no time in shooting Barclay an annoyed glare. Barclay pats Djāk on the shoulder in apology and then switches tracks, much to the relief of the younger Sylph.

“So, we came here to pick up the newest order of quilts for the Lodge, and also to get one specifically for Djāk’s room. He’s just using one from the general supply right now, but I figured you could work your magic and match him up with the perfect one.”

Elizabethany nods before heading over to the front door and locking it, swapping the ‘open’ sign over to ‘closed’ while she’s there. With that done, she leads Barclay and Djāk through the shop and into her workroom, pulling a concealing curtain across the doorway. When they’re fully hidden from the outside world, Elizabethany removes her glamour pin and shakes out her quills.

“ _ Ah, much better _ ,” she says, giving Djāk a warm smile that makes her nose crinkle. “ _ It feels good to stretch out every now and then, doesn’t it? Feel free to wander the room and poke around. I’m sure there’s a quilt here that’s waiting just for you. _ ” She taps the side of her muzzle knowingly when Djāk looks at her in puzzlement. “ _ I’m a threadmage, you see, and even on this side of the gate, the magic still guides my needle. _ ”

Djāk’s eyes grow wide. Threadmages are usually highly prized for the magic they can weave into their work, so for one to have been sent through the gate to Earth is an exceedingly rare thing. Elizabethany doesn’t regret the reason for her banishment, and she’d do it again if necessary. She watches him start to poke around the room, the younger Sylph eventually feeling comfortable enough to remove the glamour cuff as he wanders. A winterborn, then, judging from his thick white fur.

Elizabethany turns to Barclay, eyebrows rising. Barclay rubs at the back of his neck, his frustration more clear now that Djāk is distracted.

“They tossed him through the gate with nothing but the clothes on his back and a rough map to the Lodge,” he mutters, hand falling back to his side. “They did it in the dead of night, too. He’s only just started to warm up to others a bit. We made  _ takbi _ buns a few days ago.”

“A wise choice,” Elizabethany says. It’s the rare child that can resist the lure of baked sweets, especially ones like  _ takbi _ buns, and having a bit of home to enjoy likely has helped Djāk feel a little more comfortable. She turns when she hears a bright exclamation from Djāk in the brisk winterborn dialect and grins at the sight of him.

He’s found a thick quilt with stylized snowflakes carefully worked into the front, the pale blue and white patches making up the snowflakes contrasting perfectly against the darker blue of the surrounding blocks. Elizabethany remembers every quilt she’s ever made, and that one was made over several weeks of particularly harsh snow a few years back. It’s never felt right to put it out for sale to the general public, and now she knows why.

“It looks like you’ve found your match,” she says happily. “Perfect. Take it with you.” She raises a hand before either Barclay or Djāk can protest. “A gift, given freely from the heart and magic, is not to be turned down my friends, especially not when it’s a threadmage doing the giving. Now, Barclay, you mentioned you needed to pick up some other quilts while you’re here?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I did.”

Elizabethany fetches the quilts from where she keeps them safe and sound for the Lodge, each one of them imbued with the comforting magic only a threadmage can use. Djāk’s quilt has the same spells, though when she was making it, Elizabethany couldn’t help but to add a touch of spellwork that will adapt to the user’s need for either warmth or coolness. Djāk can use the quilt in the dead of the West Virginia summer and be as happy as a clam under its cool weight.

She puts her glamour pin back on after handing the bag of quilts off to Barclay, letting her disguise settle back over her with practiced ease. Djāk reluctantly follows her lead, clasping the cuff around his wrist before Barclay leads him out of the workroom and then out of the shop after paying for the quilts (though at a much reduced rate than what most people would buy them for).

Djāk is a frequent visitor over the years. Elizabethany loves seeing him whenever he drops in, and keeps a stash of his favorite candies on hand. The two of them happily split the boxes of Andes Mints, enjoying the mix of chocolate and cool mint as Djāk regales her with stories of the Lodge and its inhabitants. Occasionally he’ll bring in some of his friends, and Elizabethany finds herself growing attached to the various Hornets. Some of them are quiet, some are loud, and some seem about as lost as Djāk did when he first got to Kepler.

Those ones she keeps a specially close eye on; not out of any sort of worry that they might be dangerous, regardless of the rumors around town, but rather out of wanting to see them safe and sound. She makes sure they know that the shop is a safe haven for any of them, even if none of them are all that interested in quilting or other fabric crafts. The offer is taken up over the years by different members of the motorcycle club/gang, and Elizabethany does her best to keep her shop welcoming to them regardless of what’s happening in town.

After everything that happens with the abominations and the final sundering of the gate between Earth and Sylvain, Elizabethany finds herself working to right her shop. Thankfully, it wasn’t in the path of destruction the errant top of Mount Kepler had wrought, but it also hasn’t gone untouched. The various monsters roaming the town caused a lot of general damage to its various buildings on their rampage, and  _ Hither and Yarn _ didn’t escape that.

The front window is boarded over with a sheet of plywood for the time being, and the shelves and bins have been scattered across the store, their contents tangled around one another and strewn about. Elizabethany sighs and sets to work, grumbling under her breath in groundborn Sylvan about inconsiderate monsters that have no passion for fabric crafts. The jingle of the bell- now dented but still serviceable -rings out in the still air, making Elizabethany startle.

She pokes her head around the nearest shelving unit to find Djāk and several of the Hornets standing near the door, all of them looking around the shop in surprise and dismay. Djāk brightens considerably when he sees her.

“Miss Liz! Are you alright? You’re not hurt, are you?” he asks in a rush as he picks his way across the floor and then stops before her.

“A few bumps and bruises, but nothing major, Jake,” Elizabethany replies. She huffs out a laugh and then opens her arms for the hug Djāk is all too eager to bestow upon her. When the embrace is over, she runs her hands down his arms and clasps his forearms. “And you? Are you alright?”

“I’m doin’ radical, Miss Liz,” Djāk assures her brightly. “We’ve come to help you clean up! Barclay said a lot of the monsters came through this part of town, and we wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Well then!” Elizabethany squeezes his forearms fondly and then lets go. “A few extra pairs of hands won’t go amiss, that’s for sure. And once we’ve got a good amount of work done, I’ll treat y’all to lunch. How’s that sound?”

Djāk and the others agree that it sounds awesome, and as Elizabethany directs them on where would be the best places to start the clean-up, she can’t help but think that maybe getting pushed through the gate all those years ago was a blessing in disguise.


End file.
